Black Ties and White Lies: A Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

His vibrant eyes bore into mine as he looks down at me. The air around us feels electrified. Or maybe it’s the warm flush all over my body making it seem that way. When Beck’s eyes flick to my lips, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’d let him kiss me if he wanted to, no matter how angry I was with him after last night.

“Mr. Sinclair?” A voice comes from behind me.

Beck stares at my pursed lips for a few moments longer before he looks over my shoulder. The desire in his eyes burns out as quickly as it came. His features fix into business as usual. The moment dissipates into thin air.

Disappointment erupts in my chest.

“That’s me,” he answers, stepping around my body. Even though he no longer watches me, he does keep the moment somewhat alive by sliding his hand down my back until it rests at the small of my waist. His hand softly nudges me forward. My feet step forward on their own accord, my mind too busy wrapped in wondering if I imagined Beck wanting to kiss me or not.

The woman waiting smiles wide at us. “Great.” She pins her eyes on me, no hint of judgment in the way she looks at me, despite my lack of preparedness for shopping somewhere so posh. “And who do we have here?” Her tone is sweet, not condescending at all. I like her already. I love her style even more.

Beck removes his hand from my waist the same moment I take a step forward and hold my hand out to the woman. “I’m Margo,” I answer.

Her hand is cold as she places it mine and we shake hands. “Margo…”

“Just Margo.” She’s probably used to women who won’t respond unless you call them ma’am or by their last name. I don’t need that kind of formality. It seems weird and unnecessary.

She nods before hooking a thumb over her shoulder. “Well just Margo, I’m Quincy.”

It doesn’t shock me at all that she has a cool name like Quincy. It fits her incredibly well. “Let’s get you back in the room and see what you think,” she continues, taking a few steps back.

I look at Beck with a questioning stare. His only answer is to hold his arm out in front of him. “After you.”

I have no idea what having a fancy shopping assistant entails, but I’m thrilled to find out. I’m already taking everything in as she leads us down a hallway with peach doors and tile floor that is a shade lighter in color.

Stopping in front of one of the doors she grabs the handle. I expect to find a tiny room behind her with a few outfits hanging up. What I see when she opens the door blows my expectations out of the water. “Welcome to our VIP suite,” Quincy says, stepping into a room that can only be described as luxurious.

My eyes bounce around, not knowing what to take in first. There are a few different spaces in the large room, meant for multiple people to take advantage of the VIP suite at once. At the moment, the only people in the room are us. She walks to the very back, stopping at the largest staged dressing area in the lounge.

I stare at our reflections in a mirror that reaches from floor to ceiling. It has parts that come off the side, giving you the ability to try on an outfit and inspect it with a panoramic view. A velvet couch sits against another wall, the seat large enough to fit three or four bodies. Expensive looking pillows sit on each end of it. Beck takes a seat in the middle, looking somewhat out of place next to the glitzy, shimmery fabric of the pillows. A circular coffee table sits in front of it, expensive magazines stacked neatly on top. A few shoe boxes are laid out next to the magazines, the lids still on.

Quincy stops in front of a shiny clothing rack, running her hand over the various items hanging on it. “Mr. Sinclair here filled out a form on your outfit preferences, so I went ahead and picked out options according to what he filled out along with current style trends. I can always pull more after you try some outfits on. Sound good?”

I nod, too busy staring at Beck to use words to answer her. For some reason, I’m hooked on the fact Beck took the time last night to fill out the survey. I doubt he has any idea what my usual style is, but it’s really the thought that counts.

“You did?” I ask, my voice tight, butterflies taking flight in my stomach.

Beck waves at the air dismissively. He pulls out his phone and looks down at the screen, not bothering to answer my question. He doesn’t have to. The sentiment still matters either way, even if he doesn’t want to bring any attention to it.

All three of us are silent for a few beats. Eventually, Quincy claps her hands together before pulling a few pieces off the clothing rack. “Let’s try some things on!”

I risk one more glance at Beck, but he’s too interested in his phone to pay me any attention. Quincy hands over an outfit, an encouraging smile on her face. She points to a large door to the left of the couch Beck sits on. “If you want to change in there and once you have it on, we can talk about the fit and what you like and don’t like about it.”

“Got it.” I take a step into the room and shut the door. Even the dressing room is way more extravagant than necessary. There’s another large mirror in the space, a velvet rose gold chair and an end table with business cards and bottles of water. I hook the hangers over a hook on the wall, taking in what Quincy picked out for me to try on first. A small blush creeps up my neck when I notice the set of lingerie hanging from another hook on the wall. I pull at the tag on the bra, shocked to find the bra is my exact size. I’ll have to remember to thank Quincy for the thought. My old sports bra and boy brief cut underwear probably weren’t the best choices of undergarments for the day. In my defense, when Beck told me we had a personal shopping appointment, I thought someone would just walk through the store with me and help me choose outfits. I didn’t think about someone else picking them out for me and having to try them on.

The bra and thong of choice by Quincy will pair better with trying things on than my choices this morning. My only problem is if I put the lingerie on, especially the thong, I feel like I’ve got to take it home. Shrugging, I pull the tags off the nude lace fabric. Quincy does this all the time. It must be the thing to do here.

It doesn’t take me long to strip out of my leggings and sweatshirt. Once my bra and underwear are off as well, I fold them neatly and stuff them into the very bottom of my purse. Next, I hook my arms through the bra and fasten it on my back, marveling at the way it fits my breasts perfectly. It’s extremely comfortable, but still manages to give them a good lift. I step through each side of the thong, pulling it up my hips and arranging each side above my hip bones. Despite the high cut of the fabric, it’s extremely comfortable. The thin fabric makes it so there are no panty lines.

I take a step closer to the clothes hanging on the wall, inspecting the outfit Quincy had picked out for me. The gray sweater dress looks incredibly comfortable but also chic enough to wear to work.

Now that it’s October, the fall chill is in the air here in New York, something I’m thrilled about. I never loved that California didn’t have four seasons. I love seeing leaves change on the trees in Central Park, the air smelling different when summer rolls into fall. Even though it annoys most people, there’s something special about bundling up in the frigid cold of January here. I love wrapping an enormous scarf around my neck and attempting to cover every inch of my bare skin. It’s then exciting when the bite of winter disappears and flowers begin to bloom. I hadn’t realized how much I craved experiencing every season until I was left with really only having one in California.

I gently remove the sweater dress from the hanger, marveling at the buttery soft feel of the fabric. It slips onto my body effortlessly, embracing me in a luxurious fabric I’d wear every day of my life if I could.

Stepping in front of the mirror inside the room, I take in my appearance. Not only am I in love with the feel of the dress on my body, I’m obsessed with the way it fits me. I run my hands over the fabric, smoothing it out. It stops at my mid-thigh. A pair of sheer black tights would make it appropriate to wear into the office as Beck’s assistant, but I could easily dress it down by not wearing tights and instead wearing a pair of thigh high boots. I grab the black leather jacket off the hook and shrug it on, loving the way the outfit transforms with the addition of the leather jacket.

As if she’s a mind reader, there’s a knock on the door followed by Quincy’s voice. “I’ve got a pair of boots for you to try on. Mr. Sinclair took a guess on the shoe size.”

Opening the door, I find her holding up exactly what I’d envisioned pairing the dress with if I was dressing it down. I grab them, thanking her and shutting the door again. Taking a seat, I slip each one on. I pull them all the way up my leg until there’s only a small amount of skin showing between the top of the boot and the bottom of my dress. There are laces on the back of the boots that fall to mid-calf.

The boots are a perfect fit. I have no idea how Beck knew the things he did, but by the first outfit and the way it fits, he didn’t do bad at all when he filled out the information for the appointment.

Instead of looking in the mirror in the small room, I open the door and step into the larger area where both Beck and Quincy wait. Quincy stands next to the mirror, beaming as I take a step onto the platform and do a small twirl.

“That looks stunning,” she notes, making eye contact through the mirror. “What do you think? Do you love it or did I miss the mark?”

I stick a leg out, taking in the complete outfit in the mirror. “You didn’t miss the mark at all. I love the look of it. Totally my style. And everything fits perfectly.”

Quincy looks in Beck’s direction. “Well, I had some help.” I follow her gaze to Beck. I hate the twinge of disappointment when I find him paying close attention to his phone.

I watch him for a few seconds longer, willing him to look at me. For some inexplicable reason, I want him to look me up and down. I want him to look at the small amount of thigh showing and have him wonder what it’d feel like underneath his touch. I want to observe his every reaction as he takes in the way the dress clings to my back, showing off my curves in a way that leaves little to the imagination.

All the willpower in the world doesn’t get him to look at me. Eventually, I turn around and return Quincy’s smile despite the feeling of disappointment I feel in my stomach.

“I’m in love,” I confirm, spinning all the way around on the platform and letting out a small giggle.

“Perfect,” Quincy notes, returning to the rack full of clothes. “Let’s see what else I can get you to fall in love with.”